


Avalon, with you

by NineMagicks



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Domestic Bliss, House Party, Kissing, M/M, New Year's Eve, Not-really-strangers to lovers, Party, Playing video games, Scottie dog pyjamas, chase your bliss, poorly placed suits of armour, ribena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NineMagicks/pseuds/NineMagicks
Summary: It's New Year's Eve. Simon would rather stay at home and play his favourite video game than suffer the horrors of a stranger’s house party, but Penny insists it'll be good for him. He reluctantly agrees, wishing goodbye to his mysterious online friend Chaz. Simon’s dreading what he’ll find in the house at the end of the overly long driveway...but what he hasn't yet realised is that all roads do indeed lead todomestic bliss.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 61
Kudos: 228





	1. New Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/gifts).



> This is a fic about video games, parties that take over your life, massive houses you can't help but get lost in, and true domestic bliss. It's a Carry On winter exchange gift for pipsqueakparker, who asked for domestic bliss, and I...well, I had to do what I usually do with prompts, and twist it around a bit. I hope you like this - and oh, happy new year!

* * *

**NEW YEAR'S EVE**

* * *

**SIMON**

“Simon, get up and put some shoes on — trousers too, whilst you’re at it. We’re going to be late.”

“You’re supposed to be late to parties, Pen. All the cool people are.”

“Since when, Simon Snow, are we considered _cool?_ ”

I sigh, peeling myself off the settee like old sellotape off foil wrapping paper, and I swear I leave parts of me behind. _Every single one of my life's highlights played out_ _on this piece of furniture._

I don’t want to go to Penny’s New Year’s Eve party. (It’s not _her_ party. But she’s the instigator. Someone she works with is throwing it.)

No. Scratch that. I really, _really_ don’t want to go to Penny’s colleague’s bloody pointless party.

But from the way she’s looking at me like she’ll have my guts for garters if I don’t switch off my game and get up _right now_ , I don’t think I’ve got much say in the matter.

I can’t complain. (Well, I can.) Not really. Penny’s a good friend — she rarely makes me _do_ things. And she did tell me about this party weeks ago. I know she’s looking forward to it.

Time to take one for the team (Penny) and make an effort.

Another sigh. Another dribble of energy I can’t afford to lose. I press the start button on my controller and navigate the game’s menu — I always save three times, in three different slots, just in case something happens to one of the files. You hear about that sometimes — corrupted saves, lost data, ruined games. If I ever lost my progress, I’d lose my flipping mind. I’d go _off_ , good and proper. (I’ve poured ninety-nine hours of my life into it so far, and I’m _not_ starting from scratch.)

My console whirs and complains. It’s loud; there’s probably dust stuck in the fan. The game saves once, twice...threece? Thronce? Thrice. And then we’re good. I turn off the telly and begin the quest for a matching pair of socks, and trainers that don’t have holes in. (I’m not wearing proper shoes. Fuck that. Not wearing a tie, either.) (Penny’s going to have to accept me for who I am at _some_ point.)

“We’re running late,” she says as she dances around me, pulling a jacket out of a drawer and throwing away rubbish that’s been collecting in the pockets. “You can’t sit and play that bloody game all night, Simon. It’s New Year’s Eve — go out and smell the vodka.”

I frown. “Does vodka have a smell?”

I cast a forlorn glance at the controller, sitting there on its own. Penny’s not into video games; she doesn’t get why it’s all I want to do. And before I started _this_ game I would’ve probably agreed with her. I would’ve said _yeah, you’re right, no need to get obsessed._ An hour a day, then go out and _do_ things. Speak to people.

But Penny’s never played True Domestic Bliss.

It’s hard to describe. (Every time I do, it ends up sounding boring.) It’s a bit like _The Sims_ , because you play as a person and you get to choose a house and a job. But at the same time, it’s more than that — you go on missions and fight creatures, all in the name of keeping the peace in your neighbourhood.

The very first day I played, I was decorating my new in-game living room and a goblin broke in through the back window. Started ransacking the kitchen. My character — OliverPintPlease, or Olly for short — had to fend him off with a rolling pin. (In the game, goblin blood is green, and a right fucker to clean out of fabric. I spent half of my remaining credits on a new pair of curtains.) 

The point of TDB is _peace._ Ideally, nothing bloody happens there. That's how you know you're winning. It’s an online game, so you meet other players in the same neighbourhood as you, and you can go on missions together. The more missions you do, the stronger your friendship is, and the more Bliss points you win — eventually, if you get enough you and your mates can unlock True Domestic Bliss. Then all of the monsters and weird things vanish from the neighbourhood, and you can either arse about being happy, or move on to the next place and start again.

There are twenty-six neighbourhoods. If I move through them all, I'll be playing this for years — how's that for value for money?

You _can_ play TDB alone. I did at first, but it’s a lot harder without a partner. The game chucks all sorts at you — monsters, tornadoes, burglaries, muggings, broken kitchen appliances. It’s hard to stay on top of everything.

I picked a neighbourhood called Avalon, because it looked like somewhere I’d like to live in real life — green fields, flowers and trees. Really calm and pretty. I did a few missions on my own, struggled with it, and then took Olly for a stroll around the area. See who we bumped into.

That’s how I met Chaz.

 _Chaz._ ChazWatford, also known as **Player 2**. He was there in the middle of one of Avalon’s streets, all pixellated grace and fury, fighting off a chimera. He was having a tough time of it so I threw Olly into the mix, and together we took it down easily. We won two hundred Bliss Points each; it was fucking ace. Afterwards, I sent Chaz a DM asking if he wanted to go on more missions together, and...well, you know, we made friends. Slowly. ( _Really_ slowly. ChazWatford wasn’t exactly friendly to begin with.) (Possibly sending him twenty DMs at a time was a bit much.)

Now, months later, I don’t know what I’d do without Chaz. We talk every day. He was there for me earlier this year when we couldn't pay the bills, and I was there for him when his sister had to go into hospital. We’re mates. _Best_ mates. (Or at least I see it that way. Maybe Chaz has got loads of real-life friends he doesn’t talk about.)

We’re flying now, in the game. We must’ve done fifty missions together over the past month alone. Our Blissometer is high — nearly 90%! — and we haven’t had a goblin attack in Avalon for over a fortnight.

We’ll get there soon. In a week or two, if we keep up our usual pace. _True Domestic Bliss._

I can’t fucking wait.

Well, I guess I’ll have to wait for a _bit._ Chaz and I were taking down an orc clan tonight, but Penny’s tapping her foot in time with her own impatience, so I had to abandon him right when it was getting nasty. He’ll be fine on his own — Chaz is a careful player. He doesn’t take blind risks like I do, hacking at everything with my sword. Chaz is the team planner, and I’m the whacker.

I still feel bad about leaving him, so I send a quick DM through the mobile app while Penny isn't looking. (You can’t play the game on the app, unfortunately. Just send messages to your mates and check your Blissometer score.) (Penny thinks it’s a very good thing that I can’t play on my phone. She worries about me.)

**OliverPintPlease:** _sorry C, got to go, see u tomorrow. Happy new year!_

It doesn’t pop up on the screen to say that _ChazWatford is typing . . ._ right away, so he must still be fighting the orcs. I feel bad.

I hope he replies later.

I'll keep checking my phone, just in case.

On week nights we usually play together until midnight. (We’re in the same time zone — he asked me where I was from once. It was the first time he asked me a personal-ish question.) (He also told me he’s a bloke. And I suppose he could be lying, but I don’t know. I’ve been honest with him, so hopefully he’s been honest with me.)

All I know for sure is that chasing True Domestic Bliss with Chaz has been the best thing about this year. I light up inside when I log on at our normal time, and see the words **Player 2 has entered Avalon!** pop up on the screen. I wait a minute, insides churning, then another speech bubble appears — **Player 2: ChazWatford has invited you to join a mission. Do you wish to accept?**

I always say yes. Ever since we first connected, I’ve said yes.

I like Player 2 more than I like most _real_ people.

I mean, he _is_ real. But I don’t know who he is in real life. Sometimes Penny gets on at me when I talk about Chaz. She says he could be anyone — the bus driver, the woman at the fish counter in the supermarket, the kids who tried to mug me at the bus stop last week. (She just doesn’t _get_ it.)

Once, I _did_ try to get to know Chaz better. I mean, we know each other pretty well, but...I suggested that we meet up. In real life. I don't know why...I just thought seeing as I think about him all the time, it might be nice to talk to him. His face. Look at his face while I talk at it, I don't know.

Chaz didn’t like it. He said he'd rather not meet.

I tried again a few days later. I told him he could pick a place in London — Trafalgar Square or something, somewhere busy. Somewhere with lots of people. We could walk around and talk, get a cup of tea. He said no, and suggested that we keep our friendship in the game because he's shy. (And he told me not to ask to meet again.) (I _haven’t_ asked again, but I still think about it. Maybe once we achieve TDB, he’ll change his mind?)

Chaz is a good mate. He gets me. It’s alright if he wants to stay at the other end of a computer. It’d be better than not having him at all.

Still, I wish I could stay in tonight and rip apart a few more missions with him. That’s my idea of a blinding new year.

I suppose New Year’s Eve technically _is_ a special occasion. And Penny _did_ tell me about this party in advance. (I just forgot.) Around the time she first mentioned it, Chaz and I got into a cluster of vampire missions and everything else fell out of my head.

I’m not sure what he’ll do once we’ve found Avalon’s TDB. I’ve been thinking about that since we passed 75% on the Blissometer. We could stay together in Avalon, but he might get bored and go somewhere else. Will Chaz still want to play with me, once the goblins are gone and there’s no magic left? Or will he sod off and find a new partner? (I hope not.)

I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out one day soon. Not tonight, though — Penny’s holding up the car keys and shaking them at me like they’re bait for a magpie.

And even though I’d rather see the new year in on the settee, drinking Ribena and talking to Chaz, I pull on a coat and find my best tired smile, just for her.

“We should take a taxi, Penny. You can’t drink if you’re driving.”

She rolls her eyes and throws the keys at me. I’m sort of dressed, and it’ll sort of have to do.

“I’m not driving, Simon — _you_ are. Don’t you remember last week? We talked about this. A taxi from our flat would be bloody murder. It’ll be cheaper to drive, and quicker too, so let’s go.”

Alright. Whatever. That’s fine. I don’t want to drink, anyway. I’m just going to spend the whole night wishing I could go home, checking the TDB app — that’s the way my nights spent pretending to socialise usually go.

I follow her out of the flat and wait while she locks up. I don’t know whose party it is — a bloke she works with. Penny’s got a proper job in an office now, clacking away at reports I’d never understand in a million years. I’m a bicycle courier — I go where I’m needed, picking things up and dropping them off somewhere else. It’s not the best when it’s raining, but otherwise I don’t mind; it keeps me fit, and I can pretty much decide when I work. (Plus, I get my evenings free to play TDB. Can’t complain.)

I’m complaining _now_ , obviously. All the way down the stairs and across the road, looking for which car lights up when I press the button on the fob. (Penny used to drive a hatchback, but she swapped it out for a work car a couple of weeks ago. Grey, boring, blends with the pavement.) (Possibly a Volvo.)

"Am I allowed to drive this?"

"Yes. I had you added to the insurance policy."

"Does your work know I'll be —"

" _Simon,_ get in the car and stop wasting time."

I groan and grumble, but do as I'm told. I know the questions are annoying but they're right _there_ , queuing up patiently along the dashboard.

“Will there be anywhere to park? Free parking. I'm skint.” _Also, will there be any other sober people? Cos I don’t fancy trying to make sense of drunk New Year’s Evers all night._ I check the time on my phone — **No new Blissful messages!** — but it’s only five o’ clock. What kind of party _is_ this? I ask her, and unfortunately, she’s got a sensible answer.

“The party doesn’t start until seven, Simon, but we’ve got at least an hour’s drive ahead of us — maybe two, depending on traffic. Put your seat belt on and don’t worry about parking — the party’s at someone’s house, and by all accounts there’s a very long driveway.”

“The party’s at someone’s house?” I ask, hoping she’s planning on being a bit less vague at some point. “Do you happen to know this _someone?_ You can’t just go driving to people’s houses, Penny. They might not want you there.”

“Oh, hush,” she says, texting on her phone. I pull out into traffic and turn the windscreen wipers on — it’s going to be a shitty night. “It’s a relative’s house in Hampshire. His cousin, or something.”

“ _Hampshire?_ Fucking hell, Penny, that’s miles away! Whose cousin is this?”

“My colleague’s.”

“Right,” I mutter, stopping at the red light. “Who’s this bloke again? The one you work with?”

“Dev,” she replies, sticking her fingers up at someone who overtakes us at a roundabout. “Bit of a prat, really, but apparently he throws good parties.”

“At his cousin’s house.”

“Yes.”

“In Hampshire.”

 _“Yes,_ Simon.”

She’s getting annoyed.

_Good._

“Why can’t this person live by a train station? It’s miles away!”

“Simon, you agreed to this entire arrangement a month ago, so stop complaining. The house _is_ near a train station — Salisbury — but there are no trains back into London until ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Would you rather be stranded in Hampshire all night?”

I shake my head. _Definitely not._

“You never leave the flat — make an exception for yourself, for once in your life.”

I sigh, squinting against the rain, finally able to get above ten miles an hour. _Fine. Alright. Whatever. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can come home. I can check TDB as soon as we pull into this mysterious driveway_ — _maybe Chaz has replied to my message. Maybe he wished me a Happy New Year._

I wonder what the real Chaz is doing for New Year’s. Is he being dragged to a stranger’s party in the middle of the effing countryside? I bloody doubt it. He’s going to have a nice night in, chasing bliss in my absence.

More sighing. Penny’s sighing now too, because I’m pissing her off.

I follow the signs for Salisbury when they begin to appear, already wondering when I'll be able to slip away without anyone seeing. (It’s not like they'd miss me.) (I’m the party equivalent of a damp mop, standing unattended in the corner.)

Midnight. Got to stay ‘til midnight, haven’t we? Clink a glass of not-champagne with Penny, cos I’m driving, then tell her I’m tired. Ask if we can get going. She’s not going to want to be there at three or four in the morning, seventy-odd miles from home...nah, midnight sounds about right. Plenty of party, won’t get back _too_ late into next year.

I might even be able to catch Chaz before he signs off for the night. (Morning?) See the year in with a nice bit of Bliss chasing. That’d be good. I don’t think he’d _hate_ it?

SALISBURY. Follow the signs for Salisbury.

Follow the road into the night.

* * *

When we get to the house at the end of the long, winding, piss-taking driveway — Penny was _not_ exaggerating — I realise that every vague expectation I had about this place is wrong.

For a start, it’s not a house. Not really. It’s a fucking _castle_ , if anything — one fancy plaque away from being a highlight in the National Trust’s monthly newsletter. There are turrets and shutters and pillars and intricate curly bits, decorating the windows and doors. It’s dark too, like the void that's waiting when you close your eyes — you'd think the strings of Christmas lights draped all over the walls would help. (They’re blood red in colour, so they're making things worse.)

In conclusion, this house looks like something the Addams Family would buy if things went tragically wrong and had to go into hiding in the English countryside, but weren’t being subtle about it.

Also, this isn't really a party.

It’s practically an indoor Euro Glastonbury. With less mud.

As we crunch across gravel towards the wide-open front doors, flashes of fluorescent light up the windows, fading behind dark curtains as quickly as they appear. I match my steps in time with each thudding beat of heavy bass, and give Penny a wary look.

“What?” she grumbles, hugging herself. (It’s cold. No chance of me sitting this one out in the car tonight — I’d freeze my knob off.)

“Penny. There’s a good chance that if we step inside that House of Death, we’re never coming out again.”

She rolls her eyes and tells me to grow a pair. (She’s done with my shit and wants me to know it.)

“Simon, not only am I going to step _inside_ that house — I’m also going to get embarrassingly drunk, dance with strangers, and have the time of my _life_ in that house, do you hear me? I’m going to kiss someone at midnight. I’m going to squeeze awkwardly onto a sofa with people I don’t know. I’m going to get lost searching for the loo and make a new best friend I’ll never see again, somewhere along the way.” She pauses for breath. I wasn’t paying much attention earlier, but she looks really pretty tonight. Is that a new dress? “I haven’t listened to you coughing up seventy miles worth of complaints, just to turn around and go back home without even _trying_.” She stands with her hands on her hips. Penny Bunce Educational Lecture 101, incoming. “It’s been a long year, Simon. A long year of work and mundanity and disappointment. Can't we have this, for one night?”

I nod, feeling guilty, even though I was only joking about it being a Death House. (Sort of.) Penny lost her job at the travel agent’s at the start of the year, and she didn’t find another one until September. It was hard — we nearly lost the flat. (Luckily she’d been doing this thing called _saving._ Absolutely mad concept.) I did a lot of extra cycling, sold all my games except TDB...I’d even put the console up on eBay when she got the call that Grimm Findings were hiring her as an assistant. (Bookkeeping. Which apparently doesn’t have all that much to do with books.)

It’s been stressful, I know that. And I wasn’t exactly much help — it’s not like I earn a million quid a month, delivering parcels.

Still, we managed. And she’s right — she deserves to have a bit of fun tonight. Let her hair down with her new colleagues. Knowing her, she probably sees this as some sort of networking opportunity. She does that — thinks about the future. She looks after us.

I slip into a daydream of Bliss and follow her up marble steps.

We’re greeted by a couple of half-drunk lads as soon as we make it through the door.

“Wahey, Buncey! You made it!”

“Do _not_ call me that.”

“Sorry Penny-lope. Can we get you a drink n’ a think? A dance n’ a chance? A —”

“Oh god,” I mutter. “Make it stop.”

Penny elbows me, then steps into the light. (Literally. It’s like fucking Ibiza Bonfire Night in here.)

I feel my face contort as she’s pulled into a hug by a bloke with long, gangly arms and a big head, like that nodding dog who used to do the car insurance adverts. (What was his name again? Churchill?) ( _Oh yes._ )

“If I greeted you with a _wahey_ , I’d be nursing bruised ribs for a week.”

She either can’t hear me sulking out loud, or doesn’t care enough to respond. Either way, I’m left standing in the poshest hallway I’ve ever seen, looking like a berk as she’s pulled into another hug by Mad Lad #2. I notice a pile of shoes and wellies dripping on the parquet floor, so I kick my trainers off, checking to see if the bloke Penny’s now engaged in a weird handshake with is walking around in his socks. (He is.) (His socks have got green and red stripes on them. Very festive.)

“Dev, this is my flatmate, Simon.” She turns to me, reaching around this _Dev_ character. (What’s that short for? Devastatingly big head?) He’s not up to much really, a side note at best — after we’ve shaken hands, he turns around to tug at a passing girl’s sleeve.

“Keris, Bunce is here from bookkeeping!”

“Oh!” the young woman squeals, jumping on Penny. “I’m so glad you’re here! Have you taken your shoes off? The only dress code tonight is socks!”

For the next five minutes, I’m barraged with names I don’t know and won’t remember. Dev shakes my hand again, because apparently he’s already forgotten the first time, and then I’m meeting some other bloke from Grimm Findings called Niall. (Cheesy grin. Much smaller head.) They group off in front of me, chatting about work, and Penny seems to fit right in.

I think she’s found her people. She’s going to have a great night.

I sneak a quick look at my phone; Chaz hasn’t replied to my message. (Yet.)

I wish I was at home with him. (Well, as _at home_ as you can be with someone who doesn’t want to meet you in real life.) (After I asked and he said no, we didn’t talk for nearly a week. But things went back to normal eventually.) (I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him completely.)

I follow the drunken Grimm crew into what I want to describe as a grand foyer, but in their overly-wealthy version of reality, seems to just be another hallway.

“Main party situation’s just through here,” Dev says, holding open a door leading into darkness. Beyond, the thump of loud music and a never-ending headache awaits. The lights are off, and even though the interior of this place matches the gothic Hell Portal exterior, it’s surprisingly _not_ lit by ominous candlelight. (Just a shit load of strobes.) (And...glow in the dark body paint?) ( _So many nipples._ )

As Dev leads the way unto darkness, a hand darts out from nowhere, slapping a neon green palm print right on his arse.

Penny laughs, taking my hand and asking if I want apple juice or something else driver-friendly. I tell her to have fun, and to text me if she needs anything, only did she bring her phone with her because I might need to —

“Simon Snow, you’re coming to the party!” she insists, pulling me along.

I manage to get my hand back, but only because Niall jumps in to karate chop us apart, laughing maniacally about something I don’t understand.

“I’ll be there in a bit,” I say, keeping my voice light and cheery. She scowls at me, but ultimately allows herself to be dragged not-so-reluctantly into the rave.

“I’ll find you at midnight,” she laughs, Keris squeezing her side until she doubles over, giggling and also in pain. “Or just before. We’ll do the countdown together.”

I say _yeah, great, see you then,_ as Dev shouts for her to join in what I’m guessing is some sort of electronica-in-the-dark end-of-year apocalypse party situation. ( _Not_ my thing.) I’m surprised Penny’s up for it, to be honest; she’s about as enthusiastic about people as I am. But she definitely deserves a night of fun after the stresses of this year.

_Dance, Pen. A drink and a think, a dance and a chance._

“Have the best time,” I tell her, rubbing my neck.

She slides her glasses off the end of her nose, and I see the moment her face totally relaxes. No work problems, no worries. Just bodies in the dark, a night off from whatever’s knocking around in your head.

I want her to have this. A night to be anything at all.

 _Have the best time for me as well_ , I almost tell her, but she’s already turning to go. Dev’s telling a loud, inappropriate story about the water fountain at work, and Keris is laughing along. Niall pops up again to announce that someone called Shepard is trying to do the splits, and then I’m left standing in an empty hallway as the darkness swallows her up.

I should go in after her. Try to fit in, try to have fun. Try not to think about the car in the driveway, and how I’m not a hundred percent sure there’s enough petrol to get us back to Hounslow in one go. (I _could_ stop at a petrol station — we passed a few. But if I do that, I’ll end up spending twenty quid I don’t have on scratch cards and Wotsits.) (It’s the petrol station way.)

No...maybe I’ll stay out here. There’s plenty to see. (This hallway’s like a fucking undead art gallery.)

Instead of partying I wander, sliding along polished floorboards in my shabby Scooby-Doo socks, looking up at paintings of people who look a _bit_ like Dev, but not really. Who did Penny say lived here, his cousin?

There’s a shout followed by a crash of laughter, echoing from the music-filled cavern. I walk in the opposite direction, and when nobody calls or asks what I’m doing I keep going, opening doors and getting lost as the house winds ever up and onwards around me. (Who _lives_ here? Who would be submitting the daily missing person report?)

Every room’s the same as the last. Brown, grey, a shade that a rich person would probably call mahogany, but we all know it’s just dark red. There’s wood on the floors and walls, and I can’t quite see cos it’s Grade A Gloomy up there, but I’m highly suspicious that there’s wood on the ceiling, too.

Every inch of every surface is carved or etched or ornate, and I bet in daylight it’s proper impressive. But in the heaving depth of dark, with music shaking the boards I’m walking on, and blood red light from outside spilling through gaps in the shutters, it’s eerie. _Really_ fucking eerie. For a second I could swear it’s Halloween, instead of New Year’s Eve.

I pull out my phone. Trying times like these, you really need a bit of Bliss in your life. My heart attempts to do a cartwheel when I see the notification lighting up my screen: **ChazWatford:** **1 NEW MESSAGE**. I make fifty mistakes trying to type in my passcode as quickly as I can, to confirm who I am.

Then it’s up. It’s there. Chaz’s message. He’s definitely not angry at me for leaving him alone in Avalon — he’s ignored me for hours before, when I’ve pissed him off. No, if he replied then we’re good.

**ChazWatford:** _See you tomorrow, Oliver. A very Happy New Year to you and yours._

I don’t know why it makes me so happy. Chaz messages me back all the time. In the beginning he kept me on a “three messages a day” quota, but now we talk loads. (I think I broke him down slowly. Like a plastic bag in a landfill.) He still won’t tell me specifics, like whereabouts in the UK he lives, or what he does for a day job. But he’ll send me little things throughout the day — violin-specific memes, links to songs, random thoughts. He might think he’s giving me nothing, but I’ve actually got a pretty good picture of him by now.

He’s funny.

Ruthless.

Fucking sarcastic as shit.

And he’s soft. Really, really bloody soft. I think I like that bit best. He’s got siblings who he dotes on — he’s always telling me about presents he’s buying them — and a puppy called Lestat who he’s mad on, too. I must get at least five Lestat pics a week. (He pulls them off Instagram — he told me he didn’t use it, but all the pics he sends are filtered.) (It’s fair enough, really. I haven’t given him my social media names either. It’s like we exist in Avalon, forever chasing Bliss together, but not outside of it.)

I read Chaz’s message once, twice, thrice times.

 _See you tomorrow, Oliver._ (He never calls me Olly.)

 _To you and yours._ (There’s no one else. Just me and Penny.) (And Chaz.)

I don’t know why it makes me happy. I’m smiling down at the message and not looking where I’m going, proper lost in my own head, when I find myself face-to-tit with a suit of armour. I crash into it, almost falling on my arse as I stagger back.

“Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing my nose. (Is it bleeding? That’s all I need.) (The first aid kit in this place is bound to be medieval at best.)

Armour. Shaped like a person. In the middle of your fucking house. Honestly! Somebody actually _lives_ here, can you believe it?

I imagine what that person might be like as I wander through empty, lavish rooms. Are they at the party? Dancing to music without words, drinking wine and dining on cobwebs. They must be my idea of a social nightmare, if _this_ is the sort of event they like to host.

I stop in the middle of an anonymous parlour, confused and more than a bit lost. The signal bar on my phone has gone down a notch, which makes sense. It definitely feels like I’m walking into a vacuum. I check to see if Chaz has sent any more messages: **Your inbox is empty.** Which is fine, I haven’t replied to the last one yet, and he’s the opposite of a multiple messager. (Messenger?) I hold the phone above my head as I step around a statue.

Then I see it from the corner of my eye.

A strip of light leaking from beneath a closed door.

_Someone’s in there. Someone’s hiding in that room._

I frown, tiptoeing closer, even though I probably made enough noise assaulting that suit of armour to wake the whole of Hampshire. It makes me feel a bit better, knowing there’s someone else out there who doesn’t want to be part of a mad party on New Year’s Eve. Somebody else wants to be quiet and alone, too.

_Maybe it’s Dev’s parents or his cousin’s parents, or whatever._

_Maybe it’s Dev’s cousin._

_Maybe it’s a cupboard where they keep all the lost guests this house has accumulated over the years._

It’s rude of me to go barging in on people choosing quiet over music. ( _Imposing myself._ That’s what Penny would say I’m doing.) But I’ve got my hand on the door and I’m pushing before I can think better of it.

The glow of light is orange and soft, and all I know is that I’d rather be in there, facing the unknown with whoever (or whatever) might be waiting, than out here in the dark. Out here, listening to a party go on in another part of nowhere, in another life.

The door creaks in time with the floorboards as I take a step. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light, then I realise what I’m looking at — a fuck load of books. A room full of words. (A library, I suppose.) There’s one of those long fancy sofas that look hard and uncomfortable, with wooden armrests and bits coiling off the ends. There are armchairs, tables, a desk, and...

...and there’s a bloody _massive_ TV screen attached to the wall.

I should probably have mentioned that first, seeing as it’s pretty fucking hard to miss. It’s out of place — the modern, intruding on the past. It lights up the whole room, and it takes me a second to grasp what I’m seeing. It’s both familiar and strange at the same time, because it’s _here_ in this weird fucking haunted house reject, and it’s also _there_ , in the palm of my hand. In the app that’s brightening my phone, giving angles to the shadows touching at the marble bookcase, propping up the telly.

True Domestic Bliss. There it is, right _there_ on the wall — that’s the neighborhood menu! _Avalon, Baltia, Cockaigne, Elysium_. There’s the link to your friends! (Though it looks like whoever’s playing has only got one.) And —

“Can I help you?”

I jump back, falling over a footstool (or whatever the hell those things with frills and tiny legs and no discernible use are called). 

_Did the telly just speak to me? Or was it that judgmental suit of armour?_

I realise with a shock that there’s a person there, lying on the uncomfortable sofa. He sits up with a controller in his hand, black hair wild and messy around his face. There’s a blanket covering his legs, and he’s wearing pyjamas.

He’s definitely _not_ dressed for a New Year’s Eve party.

“Hey,” I say, then worry that might sound a bit rude. “I mean, hi. Hello?”

The bloke — about my age, I’d say — rubs his eyes and presses the pause button, so the menu screen locks. He must have been falling asleep when I barged in here.

“If you’re looking for my cousin’s party, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place.” He frowns. “Entirely the wrong end of the house, in fact.”

He says it without really looking at me, staring off somewhere over my shoulder. (I have a quick look, but there’s nothing there but books.) (I suppose books _are_ more interesting than me.)

“I’m not looking for the party,” I say. _I’m scared of it._ “I was there. Well, not really _there_ — I stood at the door. And I saw your cousin — met him, I mean. Never met him _before_ , though — my friend invited me. I drove her here. Penelope Bunce?”

Pyjama Man — they’re nice, little Scottie dogs in Christmas jumpers — raises an eyebrow at me, stifling a yawn with his hand. “I’m afraid I don’t know any of my cousin’s friends. He’s the regrettably sociable one in the family.”

“They’re not friends,” I say quickly. Although...they probably are, aren’t they? Penny must like the people she works with if she wants to spend time with them. Wonder what that’s like. (Does Chaz have friends, or is he like me?) “They work together. In an office.”

I glance at my phone. Chaz and I _have_ had this exact conversation, I’m pretty sure — I told him I was bad with people and bad with words, and he said he felt the same. 

There are no new messages on my app. That’s a shame. I should reply to him and see if he’s still up. _Guess what!_ _I went trespassing in a stranger’s mansion and found True Domestic Bliss! Sort of. What are the odds?_

Thinking about TDB gets me looking at the telly screen again, and then quickly looking away, because I don’t know. Seems a bit personal, what goes on between a man and his gaming system. (I’m dying to ask Pyjama Man about it. I’ve never met anyone in real life who’s heard of TDB, let alone _plays_ it. It’s definitely niche.)

I risk another glance; the bloke’s eyebrow is still defying gravity, and it’s making me nervous. It doesn’t help that it’s as grim in here as it is in the rest of the house — what I thought was lamp light is actually just a couple of candlesticks on the coffee table. (Chaz likes candles. Scented ones. He told me once he takes baths before he logs on sometimes, to relax his mind.)

“Your friend invited you here, but you don’t want to party? It’s New Year’s Eve.” He’s got the controller in his lap, and I don’t know if he wants me to leave. Probably? If it were the other way round, and Penny was standing where I am now, I’d want her to go. She’s pretty intense when she wants to be.

“I’m the driver,” I say to fill the silence. “Not drinking, so...a party seems a bit pointless. I hope she has a good time, though.”

He nods vaguely. His legs are tucked up on the sofa, under the blanket. It’s warm in here — not chilly, like the hallway I walked through. He looks dead cosy.

“And are you?” he asks slowly, reaching for a glass on the coffee table. (Is that _milk?_ ) “Having a good time, that is.”

I shrug, pretending to be half-interested in the books. (I _really_ want to look at the TV screen. I wonder what level his character is? Does he have a partner in the game? Has he already achieved True Domestic Bliss with them?) (How weird would it be if I asked him? Is there a code about this sort of thing?)

“I’m not really into parties. Not mad ones like that, at least.”

That wins me the makings of a laugh. “No, nor am I. I obtained my cousin’s word ahead of time that any damages and unsolvable stains will be dealt with.” He looks up at me, tucking his hair behind his ears. He looks a bit like Chaz, actually. The character. Long dark hair, olive skin. Can’t see what colour his eyes are from here without squinting and looking proper creepy, but Chaz’s are grey.

 _Guess what,_ I’ll type into the app as soon as I get a chance. _I met your doppelgänger. He wears dog pyjamas. _

“Is this your house?” I ask, peering around. “I mean, do you own it?”

“No,” he replies, yawning again. “It’s my parent’s house. I merely haunt it.”

The bloke shifts on the sofa until his legs are unravelling on the floor, stretched out in the space by the table. “I’m Baz. Nice to know there’s another solitary soul in the building tonight.”

I swallow, holding up my phone and waving it awkwardly. He doesn’t ask for my name, but I should probably slip it in there at some point. That’s how these things go, right?

“Yeah, same.” I don’t know whether to feel bad for Baz. He doesn’t _seem_ upset, sitting here on his own — just tired. I motion towards the screen and let my phone light up, so he can see the app. “You play True Domestic Bliss as well? Obviously you do, but...I do, too. I play. It. This game.”

Baz looks genuinely surprised, choking on a mouthful of milk. He slams the glass down and whips the controller up, pressing the start button to unlock the menu. I feel relief — and, yeah, a sad punch of excitement — as the familiar background music begins to play. They make it calming on purpose, I think; they want to get you in the mood for Bliss chasing. I set it as my ringtone for a while. (Not that anyone ever calls me.) (Penny called me from her room once, just to tell me to change my bloody ringtone.)

“You know this game?” He sounds hopeful. A bit nervous too, and I get that — it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. A lot of people find it boring and predictable. _Peace, joy, pleasant scenery, oh fuck wait there's a goblin._

Those people, the ones who think it’s a waste of time...they just don’t get it. I might be bored of it by now, if I hadn’t met Chaz — that’s what really makes the game great. Working with others.

“Well, that’s — I can’t say I’ve ever met another Bliss chaser.”

It’s so cool, hearing someone else say the words I only say in my head.

Something twists in my stomach, and I think it’s guilt — Chaz is sitting at home, possibly waiting for me to log on. And I’m here, lost in a castle, talking to another player.

But I look at Baz, and I realise I _want_ to talk to him. I’m glad I found my way here to the far end of nowhere, instead of stepping into the dark.

“Do you play alone?” he asks, and I hesitate. Almost tell a lie.

“No, I’ve got a partner for missions. We’re nearly there. What about you?”

“Same.” He takes another sip of milk and looks up at me almost hopefully. (I like his pyjamas. A lot. Should I tell him?) “Which neighbourhood do you play in?”

Chaz wouldn’t mind me talking to this bloke. He wouldn’t mind if I told him about our game. He might not want to meet in real life, but that doesn’t mean we’re not real friends — he’d want me to be happy. _Happy New Year to you and yours._

“Avalon,” I say, eyes flicking to the screen again. “Where do you play?”

Baz looks surprised again, and then excited. (It’s contagious.) “I play in Avalon, too.” He sees me looking at the screen, then clears his throat and gestures towards the empty half of the sofa. “Do you want to sit down? I can show you my house. In the game, that is.”

He laughs nervously, and I do the same.

I sit down next to him and hold my phone in my lap. He takes another sip of milk.

We look up at the same time as he presses start again, and the fields of Avalon begin to unfurl.


	2. Continue

I feel a smile slide across my face as I settle in next to Baz. (Baz. That’s funny. I should mention that to Chaz later — _your doppelgänger nearly stole your name._)

 _Bliss chaser. That’s what he called me. Yes, that’s me_ — _that’s you._

He moves along the sofa, even though there’s plenty of room. (It’s comfier than it looks, thank fuck.) My leg gets snagged on his blanket and there’s a bit of awkward shuffling, but then we’re sitting next to each other, staring up at the screen.

 **Welcome back, Player 1!** flashes the message. **Are you ready to chase your bliss?**

“Have you ever played a group mission?” I ask, even though I saw the grand total of one (1) friend on his list. “I did a few when I first started. Proper bloody confusing.”

Baz nods along, thumbing through his inventory. He must’ve done some of the same missions as me and Chaz, because I can see the Spoon of Soulful Stirring in there, and the Sheets of Sweeter Sleep. They’re not common items you can buy in the marketplace — you have to earn them in two-player missions.

“No group affairs,” he replies. “It’s too overwhelming. I prefer two-player situations.”

“I know what you mean.” _Although this two-player situation is weirdly overwhelming, too._ I rub at my neck; we both look away at the same time. “I don’t play in a group either. I met this one bloke in Avalon — we do all our missions together. It’d be hard to carry on without him.”

Another stab of guilt. Chaz probably wouldn’t want me to talk about him at all — he’s private. And shy. It’s the main reason he wants to keep things in-game, I think. Then his real life doesn’t have to get tangled up with the game stuff.

I understand why he'd want that. An escape into Avalon, when the real world's too much.

Baz finishes his glass of milk, then turns to look at me. “Do you ever play anywhere else? Avalon is my primary neighbourhood. I do the odd solo mission in Aberwistful, and I think Niflheim is an interesting area, but…”

He seems embarrassed. I hope he knows he can talk about the game as much as he wants — I could talk about it all day and never get bored.

“I haven’t been to Niflheim. I looked it up on a walkthrough, but apparently it’s impossible to survive there if you haven’t achieved Bliss at least once.”

Baz nods, running a finger around the rim of his glass. I think he’s blushing.

 _Niflheim_. Chaz _has_ mentioned that world — there are loads of high-level demons there, compared to Avalon. I could never survive alone.

Something appears on the screen — there’s an idle player nearby, looking for someone to join on a mission. I watch Baz frown, then press **Reject offer**. Whoever his partner is in the game, he’s loyal. (I am too. I don’t come across many others, but I never join missions without Chaz. It’d feel like a betrayal.)

_I’m not a traitor if I sit here and watch Baz play, am I?_

_Surely there’s nothing wrong with watching._

I’m about to ask Baz about his character’s hunting gear when the door to the library swings opens, and a pair of chronic gigglers crash through. They bang into the back of the sofa and I jump up, feeling like an intruder. (Which I am, let's be honest.)

“Oioi!” comes a familiar voice, and I recognise Dev, holding a bottle of beer above his head. “Wondered where you’d got to, matey! Pezza B was looking for you!”

“Pezza B?” I ask, realising there’s a grand total of one person in this house that might be looking for me. _Oh, she won’t like that._ “Right, yeah. Tell Penny not to worry. The music was a bit much; it was giving me a headache. Thought I’d go for a walk first.”

Dev’s shaky on his feet, but he seems to be following the gist of my excuses. His mate — the bloke with the smaller head, who’s wandering around touching everything — giggles to himself, swaying to his own unheard rhythm.

“Devo, let’s get back in there! They’re gonna pull out the Giant Party Kerplunk.”

_Giant Party Kerplunk? What the fuck’s going on in there?_

“Alright, mate — just needed to check on my lovely cousin, here.”

Dev reaches over the back of the sofa to pinch Baz’s cheek, which doesn’t seem like a very good idea to me. I get a quick mental sketch of their family dynamic as Baz smacks at his hand with the controller. He wins the battle easily — Dev saunters away towards the library door, cackling madly.

“We had an agreement. You remain on _your_ side of the house, and I’ll keep to myself in here.” Baz is _not_ happy.

Dev points at the television — Baz’s character is finally loading, but the internet connection must be slow. We’re stuck on a buffering screen.

“Are you still playing this stupid game? You were on it all last night, and the night before. It’s New Year’s, Baz!” Except that last bit comes out all slurred, so it sounds more like _snooearzazz_. “Do _you_ like this shit?”

It takes a moment to understand he’s talking to me. (He’s staring vacantly at the books, so you can’t blame me.) “What? Yeah. _True Domestic Bliss_ is great.” _Especially since I met Chaz_. “It’s great, playing it with someone else. Makes everything better. You should try it.”

Dev wobbles on the spot for a bit, and might not actually have a clue where he is. But then his friend — Niall — says something soothing about lager, and guides him from the library. They wish us a happy new year ( _appyooneear!_ ) as they go.

Then it’s just the two of us again, watching the circle on the screen spin as the world tries to catch up with itself.

“Thank you,” Baz says quietly, not quite looking at me.

“For what?”

“What you said just now. About playing the game with others — that it makes things better. I think you almost got through to him.”

He sounds sad. I forget to feel bad about Chaz for a minute as I sit down again, a bit closer to Baz than I was before.

“Dev seems alright,” I say, though by the way Baz’s eyes complete a marathon around the back of his skull, maybe that’s not completely accurate. “But he doesn’t get the game.”

It’s not a question. Baz nods.

“Not at all. He doesn’t like video games.”

I shrug. “Penny doesn’t either — she’s my flatmate. As long as I get the washing up done, she doesn’t mind all that much. It’s up to us what we do with our time, right?”

He nods again, messing with his hair. His leg’s shaking, though it stops when he realises I’m watching.

“Apologies.”

I swallow. _Is he as weirdly nervous as I am?_ “For what? Don’t be sorry.”

The game’s still buffering; he gets up to mess with the console. I watch as he removes the Ethernet cable and plugs it back in — the loading screen kicks into life almost immediately.

I steal a glance at my phone again, stomach roiling. It’s not like Chaz and I ever talked about being _exclusive_ Bliss chasers. It’s not like he’ll _know_ I was sitting in some other bloke’s house, watching him play. (A good-looking bloke. A nervous bloke.) (A bloke with a milk moustache.)

Chaz might be getting up to all sorts of New Year’s shenanigans — it’s not like he tells me these things. We keep things strictly in-game, and that’s alright. That’s okay.

(Does thinking about Chaz this much mean I have feelings for him?) (Maybe now's not the time to swim down _that_ particular thought canal.)

“Are your parents away?” I ask. For a moment I have a vision of a much older Baz, lost in the rave. A Baz with an actual moustache made of hair, not milk. _I highly doubt his family agreed to Dev’s party. This has got illicit Airbnb morning-after headline scandal written all over it.  
_

“Yes, they’re on a skiing trip in the Alps,” Baz answers. We watch a blue wheel spin on the screen: **Searching for players in your neighbourhood. Would you like to join a group mission?** (Baz clicks no.) (I always click no. I’d rather hang about in Avalon alone and wait for Chaz.) “They took my siblings, the dog, everything of note. I said I’d stay here and look after the house.” We flinch as something crashes to the floor on the other side of the house. “And a grand job I’m doing.”

I turn in the direction of the thumping bass music, but decide not to say anything. As long as Dev cleans up any evidence in the morning, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

“Don’t worry,” he says dryly, following my gaze. “I ordered my cousin to move the grand piano, and lock away any breakables.”

Piano. Breakables. I laugh under my breath.

On the screen, Baz clicks on a house. His character wouldn’t load, but this does — three storeys, turrets, pillars. It’s massive, and massively impressive — a lot like the mansion we’re sitting in now. It must’ve taken ages to design.

I’ve never seen Chaz’s house, though he’s seen Oliver’s. I always just meet him in missions.

He’d be jealous of this house. _I’m_ jealous of this house. Baz must be a serious player.

“It’s amazing,” I tell him as the cursor hovers over each room in turn. “You designed it?”

He’s trying not to smile. He must not like talking about himself; his eyes flick over me, then towards the library door.

“I’m not sure what time it is. I’d hate for you to miss the countdown with your friend. Benny, was it?”

“Penny. Are you going to? Join the party. For the countdown, I mean.” I’m thinking about Chaz again. _What will he be doing when the calendar changes?_

“I doubt it.” Baz picks up his empty glass and stands, blanket sliding off the sofa. “Can I get you a drink? Not a _drink_ drink, seeing as you’re driving. But...milk? Water?” He looks me up and down again, then hazards a guess. “Ribena?”

“That’d be great,” I breathe. _Can’t beat a glass of cold Ribena.  
_

The game makes a jingling sound — Baz’s character has finally loaded in the background. He closes the house screen and returns to the neighbourhood menu, frowning as the wheel spins as he hovers over Avalon. “Sorry. Connection’s dreadful tonight — I suspect my cousin’s streaming his godawful music every which way in there. Hoarding every last shred of broadband in Hampshire.”

“S’alright, mine does this all the time.” I say, watching as he moves across the room, stepping into a pair of fluffy slippers. There’s another door set into the far wall between two bookcases — it must lead to a kitchen or a Ribena store cupboard, or something. Baz disappears through it, and I stare at books and watch the loading screen idle.

While he’s gone, I look at my phone again. There’s nothing from Chaz, but there’s plenty of nonsense from Penny, wondering where I am. I tell her to get in a good dance for me. _I know you still remember all the Macarena_ _moves_. Then I open the TDB app and type a message.

**OliverPintPlease:** _hows your night going? Done many missions?_

Mentally, I type a few more messages that’ll never be sent: _Wish you were, escaping this party with me. I met this bloke and I think you’d get along. He reminds me of you._

_I've been doing a lot of thinking. Mostly about you._

_I think I might think about you a bit too much, and it probably means something._

I’d never say any of that to him — it’d freak him out.

It’s best if I keep these things to myself.

Chaz _probably_ won’t do missions without me, but I want to make sure he answers. (Unless he’s already gone to bed.) 

A notification pops up on Baz’s game just as he opens the door, reappearing with two glasses. I take one from his outstretched hand. (He _does_ look cosy in those pyjamas.) (I hope he doesn’t notice my grubby socks.)

By the time I’ve turned back to the telly, the notification has gone.

I have a thought then, and hold up my glass of Ribena. “Cheers. Happy New Year.”

Baz smirks, and clinks his glass of milk against mine. “Cheers, indeed.” Then he hesitates. “If you’d rather be at the party, don’t let me stop you. I’d advise you from wandering _too_ far into the house alone — it _is_ haunted, and this isn’t the night for getting lost. But...there’ll be dancing, no doubt. Convivial clinking of glasses containing liquids other than blackcurrant, and...well. The countdown.”

He looks away. He seems really shy. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? Strangers grabbing strangers in the dark, snogging for the sake of it...for the sake of a zero and another new January. Don’t get me wrong, it sounds _nice._ (When is snogging _not_ nice?) But it’s also a lot.

_I wonder who Chaz will be kissing tonight._

It’s a weird thought. Sometimes I forget he’s more than pixels on a screen. Chaz could be anyone.

 _But Chaz isn’t here,_ I realise, looking at Baz. _You are, though. You’re here._

“I’m alright staying with you, if you don’t mind,” I manage. I put my glass down next to his on the table — he points out that I’ve got Ribena fangs, faint stains around my lips. I wipe at them with a sleeve, not really caring. (He’s still got a bit of a milk moustache going on, but I don’t point it out.) (It’s cute.) “I can go if you want?”

He considers it for a moment, then tips his head to one side and decides something. Next thing I know, he’s reaching under a sofa cushion and pulling out another controller. It ends up in my lap, along with half the blanket.

“There’s a split-screen mode, if you’d like to try? We can see the year in together.”

He says it as if I _won’t_ like it. As if I’ve got somewhere better to be than here, in a warm, snug library, next to a nice, tired, messy-haired bloke in Scottie dog pyjamas who’s got a secret kitchen filled with Ribena. Playing my favourite game, with a blanket warming my legs. (I _don’t_ have anywhere better to be.) (This is pretty ace all around.) (Chaz wouldn’t want me to be miserable, would he? He _did_ tell me to have a happy new year.)

“I’d love that.”

I switch the controller on, and the screen splits in half. Things slow down a bit on Baz’s side as it loads the player menu again, but Avalon has appeared properly in the background now, and there’s a placeholder where his character will be once the internet’s caught up. **Player 2 has entered the game!** pops up on the screen, and I feel an uneasy pang, thinking about Chaz on his own. He’ll get a notification that I’m online, but I won’t _be_ there.

He might send me a message and think I’m ignoring him. He might —

“If we bump into my mate, we could join a mission with him?” I hear myself saying. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Baz, barely reacting. “I know we said group missions weren’t the best, but he’s cool, honestly. If he’s still online, that is. Is _your_ mate online?”

He shakes his head. “No. New Year’s Eve commitments, I believe.”

“Right. That makes sense.”

“This friend of yours,” Baz says, eyes narrowed. "You seem rather fond of him.”

Fond? Well, that's one way to put it. (Penny says I'm obsessed.)

“He's great. Maybe you've seen him around? His screen name's — oh wait, hang on. Let me log in.”

The login box appears and I awkwardly manoeuvre the cursor with the controller, typing in my email address. I won't be able to load my saves, so I won't have my complete weapon inventory, but Olly should load without a problem. I’ve just about wrestled with my password, Baz’s side of the screen waiting patiently for me to hit **Log in** , when the door behind us bursts open again. I keep my eyes on the telly as the game slowly accepts my password and begins to load OliverPintPlease, goblin hunter extraordinaire.

“Oh, sorry!” comes a squeaky, excited voice. I turn and see another familiar face — it’s the girl I met at the front door earlier. (Trixie, was it? With the mad hair.) She’s got her arms around another girl, and they’re both deliriously happy. “We were looking for the kitchen? Dev days there’s a tray of biscuits somewhere. And Ribena. Are we far off?”

Baz heaves himself up with a sigh — I watch him a slip a mobile phone out of a pocket, glancing at the screen and pouting for a moment. Then he leaves to see to our intruders, and I’m watching the telly again, surprised to see that it’s already getting on for ten o'clock.

 _Two hours, that’s all. It’ll fly by_ — _it always does when you’re chasing Bliss._

The game finally accepts my login, and I tap the controller with my knuckles. Maybe someone at the party finally turns off one of the infinite Spotify streams, because the loading bar gets a bit of a boost, and then we’re both standing there, Baz and I, in the midst of Avalon. The line down the middle of the screen is the only thing dividing us.

I stare at the game. I try to wrap my head around what I’m seeing.

Olly — my character — is right how I left him, in his trackie bottoms and hoodie, with his beast slaying kit slung over a shoulder. His hair’s a mess like mine, but his posture’s good, so that’s something. No, there’s nothing weird about Oliver — he’s as I expected.

It’s the other side of the screen that I’m worried about.

Baz’s character has loaded. And at first I think it must be a coincidence — there are only so many customisation options, especially if you’re playing the basic version of the game. Sometimes when I see other characters out and about in the neighbourhood, they look almost exactly like Olly, and I have to check which one’s mine.

But there’s no doubting it, on second look. The character on the other side of the line is one I know well.

Player 1 is ChazWatford.

I’m up off the sofa with my hands in my hair, before I know what I’m doing with myself.

_Chaz. Baz._

_Chaz is Baz._

_And Baz is_ —

Going to be back any moment, that’s what. This house might be a maze, but it’s not like he doesn’t know his way around. No, he’ll take Trixie and her friend to the kitchen to find Dev’s fabled biscuit tray, and then he’ll be back, and —

I won’t be here. He’ll come back to an empty room.

He’ll see Chaz standing next to Oliver, and he’ll know who I am. (He already knows who I am, in a way.) (Fuck. I’ve told Chaz _everything._ I wanted to meet him. I’ve told him —)

He won’t want to know me. When I asked about meeting up...he’ll think I arranged this. He’ll think I’m _stalking_ him, but I’m not. I wasn’t and I wouldn’t...he wanted to keep it in the game, and so did I. (I think.)

Fuck. _Shit._

Should I log out? Pretend I can’t remember my password and create a guest account, so we can play as strangers? I mean, _I’ll_ know the Big Terrible Secret, but he won’t. I’ll keep it inside, try not to give it away. Send Chaz another message when I get home later, and make it sound like I was at a different party.

He doesn’t know I’m Oliver. He doesn’t know I’m here.

I’m reaching for the controller when I hear Trixie’s laughter in the hallway again — another high, sing-song voice follows, and then there’s Baz’s chiding, lower tones. _Walk in a straight line! Stop behaving like bewildered sea life._

_Too late. He’s back._

_And I need to be gone._

There are only seconds left to decide, so I do.

I leave us both stranded in Avalon, and slip through the library door.

* * *

It’s dark at the party.

To be honest, I don’t know how they’re managing to keep the rave going without disaster striking — it's almost admirable. I haven’t banged into any sharp corners yet, so all of the ornate furniture must have been moved out of the way. Any dangerous items removed from harmful positions, that sort of thing. (There are no rogue suits of armour, at least.) I bump shoulders with people — a few tired faces like my own, glimpsed between flashing lights. Weary revellers who need to have a good corner slump session to sleep it off.

I see Penny out there on what was once a nice rug, now a death trap of a dance floor — she’s spinning with a bloke in glasses and a denim jacket. Every thirty seconds he interrupts himself to attempt the splits, to varying degrees of success. (This must be Shepard.) I can hear them trying to have a conversation between bass beats, something about his work in the meteorological department and how it takes him all over the country. She’s not drunk like most of the others — it doesn’t look like she's drinking at all, just laughing and moving without thought.

It’s nice that she’s hitting it off with someone. Maybe she’ll ask him for a kiss when the countdown reaches zero. (Right before I rudely interrupt and say I want to go home.)

I’d go over to her and show my face, but she’s having so much fun. _Finally._

I think I’d rather see her spin.

At least I know for certain that this party’s not for me. There’s no need to doubt or wonder what I was missing. I weave between people I don’t know, avoiding conversations I don’t want, ignoring cups of alcohol I’m definitely not interested in. I find an unopened carton of orange juice and perch on the arm of a chair from the far past, drinking it down. I glance around every few seconds, because I’m paranoid that Baz will come looking for me in his lovely Scottie dog pyjamas, wading through this wreck of a party to confront me.

_He was there, in the game. Chaz._

_He doesn’t want to meet in real life._

_He’s going to think I’m fucking stalking him._

It’s been at least an hour since I ran away from the library, and since fleeing the scene of one crime in the making for another, he hasn’t appeared in a corner to haunt me. Dev’s floated past a few times, and each time I’m momentarily convinced it’s Baz, but nah. He must still be on the sofa in the library, safely away from the madness.

I check my phone every five seconds. (That’s what it feels like.)

_Should I send him a DM to apologise? Would that count as an admission of guilt?  
_

_He hasn’t replied to my last message, therefore he’s monumentally pissed off with me._

I keep walking and avoiding collisions with strangers, trying to take my mind off the Chaz-Baz conundrum.

There’s a projector on one of the walls in what might be the living room, during daylight hours. Someone’s live-streaming a news channel, and a cluster of drunk people are getting ready to count down the year’s last half hour.

_Fuck. Half past eleven. Is it really that late?_

I check my phone again, just in case. Every time I look, I’m scared of finding a message there — and I’m disappointed when there’s nothing.

_I bet he’s fucking furious. He saw Olly on the screen and went ballistic._

_I bet he’s already unfriended me. He’ll never go on a mission with me again._

_He won’t reply to my messages. We’ll never stay up all night, chatting about nothing. No more memes, no more pictures of Lestat._

I feel an uncomfortable twist in my stomach.

_We were close. So close to True Domestic Bliss._

And I understand, possibly for the first time, that Bliss is the least of my worries.

 _I wanted to meet you._ And, _I think I've had inconvenient feelings for you. Maybe for a while now, without realising?_

No. I can’t be here. I can’t watch miserably as all this _hope_ goes on around me, smiling faces counting down the minutes while for me, they drag by endlessly.

I shouldn't have come. The bloody red fairy lights, the ill omens...they were trying to tell me something. _Do not step foot inside the House of Death and Bad Decisions._

I can just sit in the car. That’s what I should do. This party doesn’t need me — Penny’s having fun with her colleagues, and I’d only drag the mood down if I tried to join in. I can’t run the heater on the dashboard for too long, but that’s alright. Penny keeps an emergency blanket in the boot, and I can probably get away with switching on the engine for a few minutes, just to take the edge off.

Maybe I’d even be able to hide in the house somewhere. Walk along the hallway and get lost again, end up anywhere but in the library. There were so many closed doors — and I’ll probably still hear everyone’s cheers, so I’ll know when it’s happening. Then I can brave the party again, and start being a nag.

Yeah. That sounds like the right idea. If anyone asks what I'm doing, I'll tell them I'm lost. _It isn't a joke._

I do my best to retrace my steps and find a way out of the nightclub that might actually be from hell, or at least taking place in it. I get drinks sloshed on me from all directions, and feel a sting of relief when my feet touch the parquet flooring of the hallway. (I would describe the floor of the party room as _miscellaneously sticky._ ) Everywhere I look there are socked feet, dancing and bouncing and enjoying themselves.

 _That’s it_ — _there we go, you're out. Now find your trainers. Carry them around with you, so there’s no delay when you can finally leave._

I stare down at a mountain of wellies and boots, looking for my own shabby pair. (Doesn’t look like anyone bothered with proper shoes tonight.) I’m deliberately keeping my eyes off the faces staggering past on their way to the loo, in case someone tries to drag me along, when I hear someone approaching from the other side of the hall. From the direction of the library.

I look up, and I don’t know what I expect. I’ve got no idea what else my mind thinks might happen. 

It has to be him, and it is.

Baz, standing there in his pyjamas. Fuzzy grey duck slippers on his feet. (It’s ridiculous, but also sweet.) He’s watching me, his hands clutching his sides with an expression I can’t read splashed across his face like an unwanted cup of Ribena.

He looks tired.

And there's something else there, too.

“Snow,” he croaks, and that’s when I wonder if I’m about to collapse, because it means he _knows_. “Oliver Snow.”

Snow. That’s what I told him my name was, when he asked. (Or maybe I offered? Can’t remember.) (Penny said I shouldn’t give my real name to internet strangers, but I thought my surname was vague enough. He’d have a hard time googling _snow_ and finding anything specific.)

Oliver Snow. That’s who I was to him, before tonight. That's how I lived in his head, when he was Chaz in mine.

I swallow, regretting the litre of orange juice still coating my tongue. _“Simon_ Snow, actually. Oliver’s the name I use in the game.”

He raises an eyebrow, and he _does_ look a lot like Chaz. (Only less pixellated.)

I want to go to him, I do. I want to explain that this was all a crazy coincidence, me being here tonight. _I didn’t know this was your house and I didn’t know you were in that room when I opened the door and I didn’t know it was you who_ —

“Simon,” he says, and I like how it sounds in his mouth. He pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Can we talk?”

The look on his face says he means it. Is it possible he really _does_ want to talk, even though he didn’t reply to my DM? Maybe he _isn’t_ angry with me. Maybe he _doesn't_ want me dead.

I remind myself that I know him. We might not have met before, but he’s told me so much — and everything he’s given me, I’ve given right back.

Behind me, I hear someone call out from the dim — _twenty_ _minutes left! Wahey boys, let’s be ‘avin’ you!_ — and then I’m crossing the parquet, slipping and sliding in my socks.

“Let’s go back to the library,” I hear myself say. “It’s quieter.” (Might as well round out the year by continuing to state the obvious.)

He looks at me for a long moment, chewing his lip. _Nervous. Maybe that’s all it ever was._

_I made him nervous._

Eventually, Baz nods.

I think that’s about as good as it’s going to get.

We manage to reach the warm library and the candlelight beyond without tripping over too many strangers. Trixie and her girlfriend must have made their way back to the main party safely enough; there’s no one else crowding the sofa as we step inside.

Among the books, I gather myself between spines and pages. Then I dare to look at the TV screen, still lit and paused on the bright green of Avalon’s fields.

Our characters are there, either side of the dividing line. Chaz and Olly, closer than they were before, in ways they’ll never know.

The real Chaz — _Baz_ — stands across from me, still hugging his sides, looking something close to distraught.

_He didn’t turn the game off._

That means something, though I don’t know what. Not yet.

_We’re still there._

_I’m still in Avalon, with you._

It comes pouring out before I can stop or think better of it, or do anything besides fucking _ramble on_. 

“Baz, look, I swear I didn’t know this was your house. I had no idea who you were when I barged in here. Penny invited me to Dev’s party a month ago and I said yes, then forgot all about it. I had no fucking clue where we were going until we got in the car tonight and drove from Hounslow. Honestly, I sent you that message saying I wasn’t going to be online, and —”

“Hold on,” he says, interrupting me. “You drove here from _Hounslow?_ Snow, that’s miles away.”

“I fucking know!” I exclaim, pleased he’s actually speaking to me. (And he called me Snow again. That’s what he calls me in DMs. And during missions.) (He never calls me Olly, not even when I ask nicely.) “Even for a special occasion, which I suppose New Year’s Eve technically is, it seems a bit much. Anyway, that’s all this is, I swear — I know you said you didn’t want to meet outside of the game, and I respect that. I get it, really. It’s just. I didn’t know it was _you,_ when I walked through that door. I swear on the last glass of Ribena, I had no idea.”

He lets me finish. He’s leaning against the sofa, moving his hands over everything he can — the fabric, his clothes, his hair, his face. He looks like how I imagined him. (Though I suppose I was always just imagining Chaz, made real.) Same long face, dark hair, serious eyes. I’m surprised I didn’t connect the dots as soon as I saw him. (Maybe the Scottie dogs threw me off.) (Or maybe I _did_ guess and didn’t know how to have that conversation with myself.)

_Chaz. It’s you. The real you._

_The really tired, annoyingly lovely you._

For a second I feel guilty about Chaz, but then I remember this _is_ Chaz. And there’s probably a reason my stomach does backflips every time his name appears on my phone.

“Snow…” he begins again. Behind us, the screen flickers and the TDB theme begins to play. The game _really_ wants us to start that mission.

_Would he want to play together after this? Or have I fucked everything up without realising?_

From the other side of the house, we hear it — shouts and cheers as we enter the final ten minutes of the year. Logically, I know that nothing changes when the calendar ticks over — it’s the same as this year, plus one. Something that’s a pain in the arse to remember for a bit, when you’re writing dates on things.

People make promises at New Year, and they never come true.

We think things will change but they won’t. They don’t.

_Maybe this is a change?_

_I want to change this._

"You didn't want to meet," I hear myself say. An echo, a ricochet off old books. "I'm sorry I'm here."

He looks surprised. And...hurt? I don't know.

(I'm _not_ sorry.) (But I didn't want it to be like this. Not if —)

"Snow, it wasn't...it wasn't _you._ " If he squeezes his sides any tighter, he'll snap himself in half. "I...I had _feelings_ for you. I wished only to avoid complications."

I frown, puzzling it out.

He had _feelings_ for me?

Chaz? Chaz flipping Watford had feelings for _Oliver?_

(I feel a burn of jealousy towards Olly, then remember he's me.) (I can't be jealous of _me._ )

Baz looks pretty repulsed by the prospect of feelings, but it sets off something in me that's like fireworks. A display to rival the one that'll be kicking off any minute now, over the Thames.

"Baz —"

"Feelings ruin things," he says, biting his lip, glaring at the books for daring to pay us audience. "It was easier to keep my distance. You didn't _know_ me."

 _I hope you know that you know_ me, I think, watching Baz pinch at himself. _I’ve told you so many things, and there’s still a lot I’m not saying._

_There’s a lot I didn’t understand until tonight._

My phone vibrates in my pocket — it’s the app, sending me mission instructions. There’s a message from Penny, too:  
  


**SimonDon’tSaveMeAsP:** _let’s go...10 minutes! 9! 8...7!_

"Ten minutes," I say, looking up. "That's all that's left of the year."

Baz nods, then sighs and dips his head, walking around the sofa to where the controllers wait on the coffee table. He looks over his shoulder at me as he presses the start button, and a new message shines across the screen.

**Players 1 and 2, are you ready to begin the mission?**

_Yeah,_ I think. _I’ve been ready for a while. And we're here now, both of us in Avalon.  
_

_Is Baz ready?_

(Yes. I think he is.)

“Well?” he says, eyebrow at attention. _“Are_ you?”

I fall into place beside him, as I have so many times before.

 _You're wrong,_ I think. _I do know you._

And the monsters begin to gather.

* * *

I think we’ve done this mission before. It’s one of the easier ones; a good way to top up your Bliss points, if you’ve been lagging behind.

Goblins appear at a park, bothering a family trying to have a picnic. Chaz ( _Baz_ ) and I go storming in with our weapons and take care of them easily enough. I don't have any of my customised gear, but the default stuff does the job — and every time I stumble Baz ( _Chaz_ ) is there to back me up. Victory confetti explodes and points are added to our total, taking us another step closer to unlocking our Bliss. It’s a bit weird playing with the split screen, but it’s not bad. My eyes keep wandering over to his character instead of mine, so I make a few more mistakes than usual.

At the end of the mission, as we’re walking through Avalon, statistics flash up on the screen. It’s definitely not bad — nine minutes, nine seconds. The game gives us a bonus for good teamwork.

"Nice one," I say. And if I inch a bit closer to him on the sofa, what of it? "Did you pick up the Ladle of Listless Longing? It was under the picnic basket."

"I did," Baz replies. "You know me, Snow. I never miss a rare inventory opportunity."

I laugh, because I do know him. I do. It's so strange to be next to him, putting a voice to the hundreds of messages.

He sounds like the person I've had in my head for the past few months. The only thing I've been able to focus on.

And that’s when we hear it.

From the other side of the house, from beyond Avalon’s borders.

_“Ten! Nine!”_

Claps, cheers, stamping feet. The last seconds of the year, leaving us behind.

We're missing the countdown.

_“Eight! Seven!”_

I look at Baz in the glow of the game, and I don’t know if there’s anything left to say.

He already knows it.

_My secrets. Myself._

_“Six! Five!”_

He knew me ahead of time. He shuffles under the blanket and I erase another inch.

_You and Penny are the only ones I wanted to celebrate my birthday with. We stayed up all night and you sent me terrible opera memes._

_“Four! Three!”_

_And when you submitted your uni essay about epic violinist rivalries through the ages, I told you I believed in you, even though I didn't understand a word of it.  
_

Instead of thinking or worrying or wishing things were other than they are, I wait for the final seconds to pass. For laughter and celebration to explode on the far side of everything.

_“Two! One!”_

I wait for the zero.

Then I turn to find he's looking at me. His lips are parted.

"Simon —"

_“Zero! Happy New Year!”_

_Baz._

_What were we waiting for?_

_Should we find out?_

And then, even though it's probably a bad idea, I lean in and kiss him.

* * *

  
  


In the first ten seconds of the new year, I learn a few things.

 _One, two:_ There’s nothing unreal about kissing Baz.

He’s soft and warm in his duck slippers and pyjamas, and he’s _here_. He’s real.

Maybe feelings _don't_ ruin things, because he hasn't punched me in the face. He’s kissing me back.

 _Three, four:_ It’s not like the game we play. This is a different sort of mission.

I can’t just press a combination of buttons and win a prize. Not this time. _Although..._

 _Five, six:_ I slip my arms around his waist. His fingers trace a path along my cheek.

I kiss him and, in the room with us, our other halves wait in Avalon.

 _Seven, eight:_ I let myself wonder if _this_ might be the point of it all.

If we’ve finally caught our bliss.

 _Nine, ten:_ More cheering, furniture scraping on floorboards, music juddering back to life.

And it might not matter if we never get there in the game, because I think we’ve found it here.

I’m learning more than I knew I was looking for, holding Baz like this.

He doesn't pull away. He doesn't tell me to fuck off back to the game and stay there.

In my head, things start to make sense.

“Happy New Year,” I whisper, a hope against his lips.

“Happy New Year,” he replies, passing that same hope back to mine.

* * *

**SIX ~~MISSIONS~~ MONTHS LATER**

* * *

I’m in the living room, hanging a new set of curtains. Penny picked them out for me — navy blue, no crazy frills or anything over the top. Just something simple that’ll block out the light. (I’ve got a new job doing online customer support for a tech company in Japan. I have to work weird hours, but it’s all good.)

I get the hooks attached to the railing and make sure the fabric hangs properly, then step down off the chair. I should be using the stepladder, really — Penny would go spare if she caught me climbing on the furniture — but I’m too lazy to dig it out of the utility cupboard.

Shame I’m not a foot taller. I’d be able to reach the curtain rail without a problem.

If only I had a lanky, helpful, handsome man around here somewhere, to give me a hand.

“Still missing those vital few inches, Snow?”

_Ah, there we are. Speak of the devil and he appears._

I turn around, already smiling. Something small and furry goes skittering between my feet — Lestat, who _is_ a Scottie, which did explain the pyjamas. Eventually. When I put two and two together.

“Nah, you’re here now. Want to help me with the other one?”

Lestat jumps up at me, yapping until I bend down to scratch behind his ears.

“I rather think my dog would like to help.”

“Don't be an arse, Baz. Poor chap can't even reach my knees.”

Baz is leaning in my bedroom doorway with his sleeves rolled up, looking like every pleasant daydream I’ve ever had. He’s holding two mugs, though neither of them contain milk or Ribena — we’ve upped our standards these days. (Tea with two sugars, ta very much.) I abandon the second curtain and claim a mug. We stand there on the edge of my bedroom, sipping and blowing at steam.

“Does it look good?”

“Does what look good, Snow?”

“The curtain.”

His eyebrow twitches. “I believe they’re meant to come in a pair.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I need help with. We aren’t all a mile tall, like you.”

 _We_ come in a pair, these days. Baz and me. Chaz and Oliver.

He conducts a brief survey of the room, nodding approvingly. He’s got his hair tied back and I haven’t told him how much I like it like that yet, but I will later. (When I’m taking it down.) (It looks even better with my hands running through it.)

“Overall, not bad. I remember fondly the first time I walked in here — I believe there were new life forms gathering at the back of the wardrobe.”

I tut, leaning into his side. (It’s yet another excuse to touch him.) (Also, he needs a good elbowing every now and again. Keeps him modest.)

I take a look around the room. There was a whole list of things to do when we first started, but I don’t know what happened to it; I'm shit at lists. We’re making things up as we go along.

Between us, we got the walls painted last week — a blue-grey that I really like — and my new sheets arrived on Tuesday. (It’s amazing how much of a difference little things like that make.) Baz colluded with Penny and ordered the curtains off a website — he said they needed to match the not-entirely-awful rug he found rolled up in a cupboard. (It’s in the middle of the room now. It looks good.) (I keep the compliments on a steady schedule, so they don’t go straight to his head.) As it turns out, designing your own Victorian death mansion in TDB gives you a good eye for the real thing.

“What’s left to do?” he asks, eyeing the second curtain. “After I’ve helped you close the distance, that is.”

“Not much,” I answer, and that seems about right, looking at it. 

It’s been a lot of work, but we’ve made my room into a space I’m not completely embarrassed about another human being seeing. And that’s good news for both of us.

Baz comes round most nights, after he’s done with lectures — one of many new changes we let into our lives, after New Year's Eve was done. London unis are hardly Avalon, but it means he’s way closer during the week than I could’ve hoped for. (At the weekends he goes home to Hampshire. I trail after him like a kicked puppy.) (His description, not mine.) It was one of the reasons he wasn’t sure about meeting up with me, when I was still Oliver Snow — he’s always so busy, travelling back and forth from home to here. No time spare to arse around in Trafalgar Square with a bloke he met online. _I would have hardly found time to see you, Snow. A few snatched minutes, when I could have you for hours at a time in the game._

Feelings. Fucking flighty things, aren't they?

We see each other as much as we can. I'm constantly _plaguing his DMs,_ as he puts it. With any luck, he’ll never get rid of me. _I know where you live,_ _Pitch._

I’d say our Blissometer’s at a steady 110%.

I want this flat to be a nice space for him. For both of us. That’s why I got fixated on the _revamp your room_ idea, and roped Baz in to help. I've got mild decorating experience from playing TDB — or at least, I know how to put a colour scheme together. (Penny’s just pleased to see me with a project that doesn’t involve the games console. She’d let me put in a skylight, if I showed enough interest.) (She's rarely at home these days, since she got with her new bloke. Apparently her opinions still override mine, though.)

I don’t know which room we’re going to do next. We both think we should keep going. Maybe the living room? We’re not allowed to make major changes, but the landlord’s fine with us painting it — to be honest, we’re probably doing him a favour.

After work most days I look at catalogues and decorating tips, while I talk to Baz on the phone. He’s almost always on the IKEA website. (I made him agree to keep things on a budget, even though he said it would personally offend Laura Ashley if every piece of furniture was flat pack. I said I didn’t give a fuck about this "Mrs Ashley" and her feelings.) (He called me a corrugated heathen.)

“Snow…” he says quietly, as I wrestle hopelessly with the second curtain. (Fat load of help he’s being, after all that big talk.) 

The way he trails off means he wants attention. He does that a lot.

“Yeah?”

“What do you say to a mission or two, whilst we wait for the pizza to cook?”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the end of my bed, holding up two controllers.

It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen. Two worlds in one.

I suppose things haven’t changed _that_ much since New Year’s Eve. Baz didn't get in _too_ much trouble for the party. (Dev's banned from Hampshire for all eternity.) And Baz and I are still chasing our Bliss; they updated the game and added extra levels. We’ve got further to go than before, but we don’t mind. We’ll get there one day.

We can take it slow.

We don’t play TDB as often as we used to. (It’s funny, but I don’t have to hang on Chaz’s every word when he’s here in the room with me.) (I still check my phone a lot, out of habit. He thinks it’s hilarious.) We curl up on my bed some nights and chase the demons away. I _do_ get a bit distracted chasing other kinds of bliss...but that’s a different game entirely.

“Go on then,” I say, because it _would_ be fun to kick a few goblins in the teeth. We’ve been all sorts of domestic lately — maybe it’s time to go back to our virtual roots.

Baz turns on the spare controller and holds it out to me. I sit next to him on the bed, pressing the start button and a kiss into his shoulder at the same time. Lestat jumps up and settles between us, wanting to be involved.

The menu opens. (New TV. A bigger one — that’d be nice. Does that count as a decorating project?) 

A message appears on the screen.

**Players 1 and 2, are you ready to begin the mission?**

I look at Baz. He looks at me. I knock my shoulder against his and ask if he’s ready.

“Yes, Oliver,” he sighs, trying not to smile. There’s red in his cheeks that I like very much; I could always see more of it.

“Come on then, Chaz. Let’s be having you.” I take a breath. “Three...”

We press start at the same time.

“...two…”

I rest my knee on top of Baz’s as he runs ahead of me in the game, hunting monsters and treasures unknown.

“...one.”

It’s here in the room with me, the paradise I was seeking. In an app on my phone — trapped behind a screen, the whole time.

Waiting. Waiting for me.

_Zero._

The fields of Avalon unfold before us as we trade one world for another.

 _Here it is,_ I think. _The truest bliss. We chased it, caught it, cornered it._

In the real world, I lean in to chase a kiss across his lips.


End file.
